Autopsy Of My Soul
by gliderstiles
Summary: Stiles wakes up in the woods with no memory of how he got there and finds his way to the hospital. He finds out that he can't interact with anyone or anything, he's in a coma, and, oh, a grim reaper shows up for a "chat" and takes him for a ride. Meanwhile Scott and the pack are trying to find out why he isn't waking up. Can they save him? Can he be saved?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens.  
-Woody Allen

If there was one thing Stiles hated, it was California winter. Technically it wasn't that cold tonight for California, or really winter yet, but Stiles woke up cold and shivering, which is a terrible, terrible thing. He reached out with one hand to find his blanket, eyes stubbornly staying shut, but found only leaves.

Wait, leaves?

His eyes snapped open and… crap.

Yup, leaves, those were definitely leaves, that was a twig near his head, two inches from poking his eye out, and he was definitely in Beacon Hills Preserve.

The teen sat up and slowly looked at his surroundings, trying to keep his fear bottled up so he didn't explode into a full blown panic. He strained to remember why he had woken up face down in the woods and… nothing came to mind.

He breathed in slow, in and out, the memories wouldn't come, but he could figure it out. Did he have amnesia? Did he get hit in the head or something? Did a werewolf steal his memories?

Stiles frantically looked himself over in the limited light from the waning moon that trickled down through the trees. For a split second he thought he saw blood running down his arm, then it was gone. _Just shadows, trick of the light, everything is fine, Stiles. Shut your brain up._

Alright, fully clothed, shoes and everything, so sleepwalking could be safely ruled out. Probably. He would be in his pajamas, right? He didn't find anything, but his chest and left shoulder ached slightly, like a dull, far away pain and there was a numbness all over. Maybe he hit his head, that's why he couldn't remember anything. Temporary amnesia. Maybe. Hopefully temporary. He couldn't feel any cartoon-like bumps, so, there was that. His hand didn't come back sticky with blood, even better. No claw marks at the back of his neck that he could feel. His phone was nowhere to be found. That worried him, he never went anywhere without it. No car keys either.

Ok, adrenaline? What if he was in shock? From what? He couldn't find any visible wounds. It was still freaking cold. However he came to be here, he wasn't about to stay put. He got up on slightly shaky legs.

What else could it be? Was he out here because of some new beastie? Were his friends out here? Were they hurt? Why couldn't he remember anything?

The last thing he could remember was leaving school after practice. It was a fairly normal day, well, for Beacon Hills. Scott may have crushed a newly opened soda can during their off period together when the fire alarm went off right above their heads. (It was actually a surprise fire drill this time, Stiles checked.) It was the best thing ever. The Pepsi can did a quick impression of an exploding fountain, going well above their heads, in Scott's face, even up his nose. It was awesome. A little of it landed on Stiles, but the majority of it was on Scott and the floor. Stiles laughed, and by laughed, he means uncontrollable, head back, stomach cramping laughter. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed like that. Scott gathered up his backpack he had just sat down and pulled the laughing maniac down the hallway and out the doors. Lydia and Malia found them a few minutes later, Scott still dripping, Stiles still grinning.

"What happened to you?" Lydia asked, amusement clear on her face. Scott opened his mouth to speak but Stiles beat him to it.

"Scott decided his Pepsi needed to die. It was a bloody, gruesome battle."

Scott gave him his _why do I put up with you_ face as the girls laughed. Scott cracked after a moment and joined them. Stiles could see the relief on his face that he wasn't the only one when Malia told the group she broke her pencil.

When they were allowed to go back inside, Scott changed into his extra set of clothes he kept in case of bloody werewolf emergencies, which Stiles had insisted on considering the number of supernatural events that happened at this school. It was a rare good moment these days.

The rest of the day was relatively normal. After practice Stiles remembers getting in his car to head home. It was still daylight then. He couldn't remember getting home, but he must have, right? It was blurry after that.

Looking at the position of the moon, he estimated it was about… Yeah, no idea.

It was late, he could feel it in his bones. Hours after he left school.

It was simple, he just needed to find out exactly where he was in the woods. He knew parts of the woods well enough, he had done enough stomping around in them with Scott over the years, before and after his buddy got turned into a werewolf. That didn't mean he knew exactly where he was with no point of reference. Or well enough to actually put the Nemeton on a map. He and Lydia had tried once, but the memory of where it was escaped them, after carefully trying to pinpoint exactly where it was on a map beforehand. Magic trees, whole or not, apparently can't be marked down on a map, it had to want to be found, according to Deaton.

So, yeah, simple, find a landmark, find out why he was here, find his friends if they were out here somewhere, avoid finding Beacon Hills latest monster of the week that may or may not have resulted in his recent memory loss…

Yeah, no problemo, piece of cake.

The preserve was eerily still. No wind tonight. The night time sounds of the forest seemed muted. He could hear very few nocturnal animals, some insects, nothing like it should be. It was way too quiet. That usually meant a predator was near. Or a rouge omega about to munch on his liver. That was always fun.

Stiles nervously ran his fingers through his hair and with a sigh and looked closely at his surroundings. Alrighty. Find the clues, what happened here? Was there some kind of fight? Was he running from something, or what?

He squinted in the darkness, trying to find tracks, scruff marks, his friends (if they were out here somewhere), something. Nothing, at least nothing that he could see, it was too dark and he was sorely lacking a flashlight. He thought that he would at least find something where he was laying, but no. Not much he could do without illumination on the subject.

He placed one hand gently against a tree. That numbness was still there. It was as if his hand was covered in a glove, he could feel the bark beneath his hand, but not as well as he should have.

That's just great.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, picked a direction and started walking.

When Stiles did eventually spot a familiar large rock jutting out from the ground, he broke into a run, grinning. Which may have been why he narrowly avoided tripping over a root sticking up from the ground by jumping over it at the last second. No, he fell after that, tripping over his own feet.

Stiles got up with the tattered remains of his dignity. Hey, all was good. He knew where he was now. From here, the road wasn't far, and he was closer to town than he originally thought. Actually, the hospital was maybe a mile or two from here, ish, once he got back to the road. He could go there, talk to Mellissa, and finally find out what was going on, he had to be out here for some reason. He could call Scott, or his dad... Scott might be best, for now, until he found out what was going on. No need to worry dad if he didn't have to.

Speaking of Scott, he hadn't found any evidence of the others out here. That didn't mean anything, he didn't have super hearing or smell, and the preserve wasn't small.

Get to the hospital and figure it out from there. That wasn't so hard, right?

When he did eventually find the road, he contemplated the pros and cons of hailing down the next car that passed. If one did, this was an out of the way backroad, there were not typically a lot of people passing through. With the exception of stupid teenagers with possible short term memory loss, goofy werewolves, and the occasional banshee. Just another night in Beacon Hills. If one did come by, was it worth the risk? Like any parent, Mr. Stilinski had warned his son of strangers and getting into vehicles with one, except maybe a little more than most parents, he even showed him an old case file- nope, nope, don't go there, not helping.

Ok, so there was that, and then there was being out in the woods, no idea why, no clue what's going on or who was out here with him… It's not like people have been dying out here in the last few years, right? Again with the not helping.

It didn't seem to matter however, one car did come by, it didn't even slow down a fraction to Stiles' thumb. "Oh, come on!" He said in exasperation. In truth, he wasn't sure if it was a bad thing or a good thing. Oh well, he didn't that have far to go, as long as nothing popped out and decided Stiles with a side of wild berries was on the menu.

It took a little while, but it was a beautiful sight when buildings finally came into view, and then the hospital. Scott was wrong, his sense of direction was awesome! He took off at a run again.

He burst through the hospital doors and skidded to a stop and quickly found Melissa.

Or that was the plan anyway. Before he got halfway there he ran out of breath and had to stop for a few seconds. Ok, so he walked the rest of the way to the front entrance. Shut up.

He reached the electronic sliding doors. They didn't budge. He waved his hands in front of the sensor. Nope. Looks like they need to check the sensors, another item to the list. With all the supernatural wonders, fights, what have you that happened here, it wasn't a surprise.

He was about to force it open when a man started toward the entrance. Stiles waved at him, a slight smile on his face and gestured towards the doors. The man didn't look his way but walked outside, without a glance toward Stiles, nor a word to his thanks as he left the hospital. How rude.

At least the doors were open this time and Stiles walked on in. Must be a glitch. He would tell Melissa about it when he found her. Was she even working tonight? That may have been something to consider earlier, but if she wasn't, he could still call Scott.

He sighed with relief when he found her at the nurses' station. At least something was going right.

He hadn't seen many people here tonight, and it seemed a slow night, which was certainly a plus. He stopped in front of Melissa who was working at her computer, yet she didn't look up.

"Hey Melissa, have you seen Scott tonight?"

She didn't respond. "Yo, can I borrow the phone? Melissa, are you listening to me?"

Melissa may have given him the cold shoulder once or twice, when he had gotten Scott into trouble, but she would never blatantly ignore him. He hadn't done anything lately that she knew about. She was always warm and open to him when he wasn't dragging Scott into something.

He reached down to wave in front of her computer to get her attention, placing one hand on the counter as he did so, leaning on it, and fell _through_ the counter. He flailed and yelled out trying to hold onto something, right through Melissa and her computer with no resistance. The cold wave that passed over him as he went through the counter changed to a slight warmth as he went through Melissa.

He instantly got up and out of Scott's mom and scrambled away behind her. What the hell? What the _fuck_ just happened?

The anxiety he had been feeling since he woke up doubled, tripled.

"Melissa? Melissa?! No, no, no, this can't be happening!" He said, pacing behind her. He touched the counter beside her again. That numbness feeling suddenly blossomed into something new, something horrifying. He hadn't pushed against that tree, but he pushed now. Instead of pressing against the cold, hard surface that wasn't meant to budge, his hand passed through it like it was nothing. He hadn't touched anything else, even when he had tripped it was over his own clumsy limbs in his haste not to trip over the exposed root.

With that thought, his feet started _sinking into the floor._ He jumped and screamed and this time his feet stayed on top of the floor. Thank God.

No one reacted. Not Melissa, not the other nurses, not the doctor going through a patient's files, not the patient he could see slowly walking down the hall with an IV, not the man leaning against a far wall, head down, no one.

This couldn't be happening. Was... Was he a ghost? Was he dead? Did he actually die somewhere out there in the woods?! This was why he couldn't remember. He was dead and… and…

He was going to have a panic attack, except can you have a panic attack if _you don't have a body?!_

At that moment, the emergency doors slid open again, this time, two EMTs came through with a stretcher, followed shortly by Lydia Martin and Scott McCall, worry written all over their faces. Except it wasn't just concern he was seeing, it was terror.

"Male, 17," Shouted one of the EMTs. She said more, but Stiles didn't hear the rest. The world slowed down, almost to a halt, seconds were minutes, and minutes were hours. Everything and everyone was moving in slow motion. He barely noticed. He was too busy staring at the body on the stretcher. The second EMT was holding a mask over the boy's face, but Stiles could still see the features. Brunette, moles scattered across his face, skinny, lanky body. His eyes were shut, unconscious but alive.

It was him. It was Stiles, he was staring at himself, again. Except, this time, it wasn't the nogitsune, it was his own body he was staring at.

"Oh my God."


	2. Chapter 2

Author Notes: So I didn't mention in the last chapter, but eventually this is going to be Stydia, fairly slow build considering Stiles is otherwise occupied right now. This story's main focus is not romance. I would however love to hear your opinion and what you think is really going on, although it may be too soon to tell at this point.

 **Chapter 2**

If no one knows when a person is going to die, how can we say he died prematurely?- George Carlin ( When Will Jesus Bring The Porkchops?)

It had been a fairly decent day, all things considered. Nothing out of ordinary for once. Scott spilling soda all over himself partially due to his werewolf hearing, partially due to Scott being Scott didn't count, nor did Malia breaking pencils, that happened often anyway. They weren't the only ones who jumped when the fire alarm went off, for Lydia did too. She thought for a second when it went off she heard a screeching sound, but no, it was just the alarm. It made her jump regardless.

Right now she was getting into her car about to pick up some necessities, just a little shopping. That thought went out of her mind when she started the car and she could hear the screeching noise, like tires skidding across pavement.

It was warm enough inside her car but all she felt was cold. No.

Normally, she didn't mean to find anything, it just happened. Some silent call that she didn't always know she was answering. That was something she wanted to work on, too bad there's no banshee instruction manual. She thought that she was more attuned to her friends, her family. Which was why she immediately called Stiles.

The phone kept ringing in her hands. "We're sorry, the number you have dialed-" She hit the end button and tried again.

She didn't wait for him to say hello.

"Scott, Stiles is in trouble." Lydia said into the phone, her voice thick with worry.

"What happened? Is he ok? Are you?" Scott said instantly, whatever greeting he had been about to say died.

Lydia took a breath and answered in a quiet voice. "I don't know."

There was a pause on the other end and a shaky breath and then-

"Where are you?"

Teen Wolf

Lydia refused to wait, she told him the little she knew and just drove. There was no time to wait, she knew that much. Scott could call the others. She concentrated hard as she could and found herself driving near the preserve. She was still fairly close to town on a back road when she heard it. That horrible screeching sound, she wasn't sure if it was happening right now, or in her head.

Her car slowed when she got in sight a few minutes later and pulled up behind the Jeep, and texted Scott quickly, staring ahead.

Stiles was a decent driver compared to the rest of them, despite his need for speed. She knew his dad had saved his sorry butt who knows how many times with speeding tickets. He was still competent, and more or less in control.

So why did he run into a tree?

The road had curved, the jeep apparently hadn't followed it. From the state of it, it looked like the jeep had hit one tree on the driver's side, spun, and hit another tree. One headlight was still on, the other broken and smashed, just like the window shield. It looked like the glass had blown outward, the parts that hadn't been invaded with mangled branches, blood on the jagged edges of the glass as if Stiles had been thrown from the car.

"Stiles?!" She cried out, searching, listening for him, a groan, anything.

She was already dialing 911 when she spotted him, ten feet from the car. She ran to him as the operator picked up.

"Stiles, Stiles!" She said, dropping down next to him. He was on his stomach. In the headlights she could see blood pooling into the dirt from a head wound and a gash in his shoulder.

"Ma'am! Hello? What's going on?" said the operator, still trying to be calm as she was supposed to be, even when she heard Lydia's frantic voice.

Lydia checked for a pulse as she spoke into the phone.

"Car accident, on Beaker road, it's Stiles, Stiles Stilinski, he's hurt, bad, we need an ambulance immediately."

Lydia put the phone on speaker and set it down, as she checked over her friend, listening to the woman's instructions on the other line and telling her what she could see. She assured Lydia that an ambulance was on its way and to stay on the line.

He was prone on his back, face half in the dirt, but breathing. Carefully trying not to move him, she pulled her jacket off and pressed it against the wound in his shoulder. It might be broken, or at least a torn muscle, it looked like he had hit a branch or something, but the bleeding wasn't as bad as it could be. Yet. His collar bone might be broken. Something a teacher once said went through her mind, it only took 15 pounds of pressure for the collar bone to break. She couldn't find any other major wounds without moving him, just scratches and a few bruises were beginning to form. The thing that worried her was the head wound. A 2-3 inch gash on the top of his skull, blood trickling down his face.

He was out cold. She could feel a weak pulse beneath her hands. Lydia called his name, and told him he was going to be ok, the ambulance was on its way. Her voice cracked and she could feel the tears rolling down her face. She didn't know when the crying had started.

She jumped when a hand laid down on her shoulder and Scott was there. She hadn't noticed he had arrived. Together they tended to Stiles' wounds, trying to keep the bleeding down, until the ambulance showed up a few minutes later.

Teen Wolf

After what seemed like forever, he wretched his eyes away from his body and looked to his friends and the world seemed to speed up back to its normal pace. The sound had faded away, but it came back with a vengeance.

Melissa had jumped out of her seat, and was instantly helping push the stretcher while demanding what had happened.

Stiles couldn't look at himself, instead he looked at his friends worried faces.

Apparently, from what the EMTs and his friends said, Lydia had found him, he had been in a car accident, had been thrown from the car, received a nasty head wound, had a broken collar bone, a gash on his shoulder, possible torn ligaments there, and possible broken ribs, maybe internal bleeding.

Oh, and he was a spirit.

After the initial shock, he spurred into action. Lydia. If anyone could see him, hear him, it would be the Banshee.

Melissa, other nurses and an ER doctor where already tending to him, taking him to the OR while Scott and Lydia stood out in the hallway just beyond the door, holding hands, concern etched into every feature of their faces and in the way they held themselves, watching. He wished he could say he had never seen his friends look so helpless, but this was far from the first time one of them had been in the hospital, or since someone lay dying.

"Lydia! Scott! Can you see me? Hey! Come on! This isn't the time to break down on me, Buddy!" Stiles tried to slap Scott in the face. Predictably, it had no effect. Not even a flinch or a stir as Scott spoke quietly to Lydia.

"I called the Sheriff, he should be here soon, and so should everyone else. I didn't see anything that looks like it was supernatural did you?"

"No," She replied, "Not that I could see. Scott, what was he doing out there?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Stiles said.

Scott shook his head, his expression somber. "I don't know." He hesitated for a moment. "Is he dying?" He was so quiet, Stiles almost didn't hear him.

Stiles could hear the quiet fear in his voice that he was trying to hold back, and failed. He reached for their clasped hands as Lydia opened her mouth to answer, she let out a quiet gasp as Stiles fingers touched her own.

"Lydia?" Scott said, worrying more when she didn't answer him.

"Lydia!" Stiles yelled. Yes! She felt something, he can do this!

"I'm right here, Lydia, right here in front of you. I don't know how, but I am. I need your help. Please."

Lydia just shook her head slightly. "He's running out of time, Scott."

Stiles stepped back and groaned. No. "Oh, come on Lydia, I know you felt something! You can do this!" Stiles wasn't sure if he said that last sentence for her or for him but it didn't matter. He touched her hand again and waved his hands through her body. (That was weird, there's that warmth again.)

She didn't react to him this time.

Then her eyes shot up and looked in his direction. Stiles grinned and did a little fist pump. "Yes!" Then his hope faded as he realized she wasn't looking at him, but past him as his father walked quickly towards them.

Sheriff Stilinski stepped into his son, who quickly jumped away. He was never going to get used to that, hopefully he wouldn't have to. That was so strange.

"What happened? Where's Stiles? Is he alright?" Said the Sheriff, the commanding tone of a police officer in his voice.

It was Lydia who answered. "They just took him to surgery."

She started telling him how she found his only son, Scott nodding, and telling his two cents. This, this wasn't good, this was beyond bad. Lydia found him, the one who predicts death and found dead bodies when she wasn't trying found him. They had been able to stop it before though, right? They could do it again. Positive, Stiles, think positively. Or go insane with the impending doom hanging over his head.

"No, no dad, I'm right here. I'm ok." Stiles tried to tell him, watching his dad's face fall in fear and a little anger. It was going to be ok, it had to be. He wasn't about to abandon his father or his friends, not now. Not like this.

They had faced so many monsters. Peter. Kate. The Kanima, Matt, Alpha pack… the list went on. He should have died so many times, but he didn't. He was still shockingly alive and was determined to stay that way. Of everything, would it be a simple car crash to do him in? Was it a simple car crash? He would figure this out, like he always did, get back in his body… There had to be a way.

He heard a chuckle behind him and turned around swiftly, spinning on his heel.

A few feet behind him was a man, a few years older than Stiles, leaning against the wall just outside a patient's room. He had raven black hair that went just past his ears. Similar to how Scott used to wear his before he cut it short, except neater than Scott's ever had been. He was tall, thin and pale. He wore black leather duster over a plain black t-shirt and black jeans. (What was it with supernatural creatures always wearing leather? Was it an unspoken rule somewhere?) He stared right back.

"That's not going to work, kid. Banshee or no, it's going to take more than that to get their attention."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. So many questions exploded through his mind, he settled on one. "Who are you?"

The stranger smirked, amusement plain in his face, but didn't answer.

Stiles took a step towards him. "Who are you? Why can you see me when no one else can?" He said, his voice firm, trying to channel his dad's commanding tone into his own.

The stranger stepped away from the wall. "I suppose you could say we are kindred spirits," He said, that damn smirk still on his face.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Are you a ghost?"

The stranger scoffed. "Hardly."

"Then what the hell are you? The Spirit of Christmas Past?"

He chuckled again, and glanced behind Stiles. Stiles followed his gaze and realized Lydia, Scott, and his dad had moved off a little ways to the waiting area. Malia had joined them. He quickly turned back to face the stranger, who was now directly in front of him, invading his personal bubble. Stiles retreated a couple steps, he wasn't followed.

"I suppose you could say I'm here to collect."

Stiles froze. "You're- you're a reaper? A Grim Reaper? Seriously?"

In response the man-( the, pale, thin, black clad man who could be the picture of a traditional grim reaper, all he needed was a scythe, and a black hooded cape and skeletal fingers. Well he did have the fingers. Or he could be a young, more handsome, Severus Snape) – The man tilted his head slightly and cocked an eyebrow at him with a smile.

 _Oh God._

Stiles face dropped. He barely stopped himself from stepping back and running like hell. What would that do?

"You're here for me?" It wasn't really a question, Stiles knew the obvious answer, but it was one that needed answering, even if he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

The Reaper nodded with an amused smile. Gentler now, but there was a fire behind those eyes.

"No way, I'm not going with you. Fuck that!" Stiles practically screamed. "I'm not ready. They aren't…" He looked back towards his father. Scott. Malia. Lydia. He drew in a sharp breath and returned his gaze to death. "I can't leave them. I-"

"Stiles," The reaper said, slight irritation in his voice.

"No, douchebag! This isn't how I'm going out, I'm fighting with everything I am! If I'm dying I'm-"

"You're not dead, kid," the reaper interrupted. "At least not yet anyway, Docs are still working on you."

Stiles sudden anger went down to a low simmer. His eyes widened. Did that mean he is going to die in the operating room?

"Then why are you here? Is this some cosmic joke to you? Mess with Stiles, is this how you get your jollies off?"

The reaper grinned, it wasn't pleasant.

 _Good going, Stiles, you poked the bear, again. Except this time, the bear isn't going to offer the bite, like Peter, he's going to take your soul._

The short silence that followed was filled with the fear, anger, and despair in Stiles' head. It wasn't so much that he was afraid to die (he was, very much so), but that wasn't it. To be fair, he probably deserved it. The Nogitsune killed so many people, Allison, even Aiden. He never liked Aiden, but he did die trying to save Stiles and his friends. That was on him. Scott was on him, he would never have been a werewolf if it wasn't for him, and everything that followed.

It was leaving his father.

Abandoning him, he wouldn't have anyone left. It was hard enough losing his mom. They barely managed to cope with her death, but they had each other. If he wasn't there anymore, who would help his dad then? Scott… Scott, for as much as Stiles loved him, Scott was a hopeless puppy without Stiles. Ok, that wasn't completely fair, but it would devastate him. They had been through so much together, it was hard to imagine not being together. He would never be the same. Everyone else... He didn't really want to think about it. He tried not to think about it most days, but the truth was, so much of what happened in Beacon Hills boiled down to Stiles He took Scott into the woods, sacrificing themselves to the nematon, so much of it could be traced back to him… If there was a heaven and a hell, he knew which one he'd be likely to go to. Best intentions and all that.

"I'm here," The reaper said, the words slow and deliberate, "Because it's time you and I had a good, long chat."

There was a gleam in the reaper's eyes as he took a step forward. As he did the duster _moved._ It rippled and changed, the smooth leather changing into obsidian feathers that reflected the light, seeming to change some feathers to purple, blue, green, blood red and a dark grey. The wings unfurled, going straight through the walls of the hallway into the patient rooms beyond and into the nurses station.

Stiles couldn't help it. He was never much of a fighter. He would stand ground for his friends, but fighting wasn't his way, he used his brain. He found and connected the clues. Right now his brain was telling him to get the fuck out of there right now. He ran. So did the beast behind him. The reaper tackled him, except they didn't fall to the floor, they rose in the air as the reaper beat his wings. Within seconds they went up through the floors, Stiles could feel the wind of it as he struggled but he couldn't get out of its grasp, his arms tight around Stiles torso, pressed tight against the grim reaper's body.

No one else felt the wind. Nothing stirred out of place. Lydia glanced up at the celling but she didn't know why.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Death is just nature's way of telling you to slow down. – Dick Sharples

Lydia was tapping out a fierce, fast rhythm against the arm of her chair. Scott wanted to say something, but he had no idea what to say. He watched her a moment. He could smell the anxiety, fear, and worry coming off of her, off of everyone around him. She appeared calm, and in control as ever on the outside, except for her fingers tapping away.

Malia had gone to get snacks, Noah Stilinski had gone to talk to the nurses again, he couldn't stand waiting around, and Scott felt the same.

He stayed next to Lydia though, waiting for his mom to come tell him what was going on. Liam, who had shown up a little while ago, was a few seats away, staring at his fingers. Scott had called Derek too, but there had been no answer. He left a message.

"Did you see anything else?" He asked quietly. The tapping stopped. They had already had a similar conversation earlier, but he needed to work out what happened. There was always more to things if you look hard enough. Stiles taught him that.

"You saw what I saw, Scott." Yeah, he did. When he got there the smell of blood, Stiles' blood… it overwhelmed him a little. He wasn't really paying attention to much else.

"I know, but do you think… Is this, is this our kind of thing or…" It had to be, right? Stiles didn't just get into an accident, there was usually _something_ in Beacon Hills, normal things like car accidents, it wasn't supposed to happen. He tried to think back to finding him, but he couldn't focus on much else other than Stiles at the time. He may have to go back. The police, he knew, were combing the scene for signs of foul play when paramedics took Stiles in the ambulance, Lydia and Scott not far behind. He should have paid more attention.

"I don't know Scott." Lydia said, voice raised just a touch too high in irritation. She sighed and looked at him apologetically. "I don't know," She repeated, quietly, "But I knew this was going to happen. I knew and I didn't..." She stopped then and drew in a shuddered breath.

"What do you mean?" Scott said. His words were not accusing, that rarely helped. "You- you heard something? Before?"

Lydia nodded. "The fire alarm. I just thought it was part of it, I didn't think anything of it. I should have known, I could have stopped this." Her eyes watered but she kept the tears back. Not here, not now. "And then I heard it again, that's when I called you. I tried Stiles first."

"Hey, it's not your fault." He put his arm around her but she shook him off. "It's not your fault." He repeated, more firm. "If you hadn't found him, he might still be out there." Scott knew he wouldn't have, he had been figuring his way through biology homework when she called and was considering going to bed or playing Halo. Halo would have won out.

Lydia nodded and Scott considered what she had said. Why was Stiles out there in the first place? The last Scott knew, he had left him after Lacrosse practice. The Sheriff had been at the station. After that, no one knew, save Stiles. "We will find out what happened." He said decisively.

~Teen Wolf~

The world was going by too fast, and Stiles quickly lost track of where they were. He knew he should feel sick, but he didn't. One of the only perks of having an out of body experience, as far as he could tell. He quit fighting, he didn't know what would happen if he fell like this when his body was still in the hospital, but he didn't want to find out. It was weird too, when he touched people before, Melissa, Scott and Lydia, there was that quick blossom of warmth. Now though, being held unwillingly against the chest of an angel of death, (he was still a little shocked there, over everything, really,) he was warm but it wasn't body heat exactly, it was more like being close to a campfire. It felt good and warm after being in the cold, but get too close, can't stand the raw heat anymore and it burns. He wasn't sure if that feeling was the creature holding him or because he sooooo didn't want to be here.

As they flew high above the town, the buildings started to look like part of a child's playset, with small buildings and cars he could pick up and zoom through the streets, just like the set he had as a child.

The creature holding him didn't look at him, didn't speak, and just flew. A pressure built up behind his eyes, so he closed them and tried to blink it away. This was too much, this shouldn't be happening. When he opened his eyes again they were rushing towards the ground.

Too fast. He quickly inhaled and yelled his protest. The vise like grip around him disappeared maybe ten feet from impact.

"Aaahhh!" Stiles screamed, mostly manly. He felt he should be cut a little slack considering the circumstances. He spread out his limbs, bracing for impact, trying to twist his body to land on his feet. Cat-like, Stiles Stilinski, is not.

He landed hard on his side, bounced, and tumbled to a stop on his back. The winged creature landed gracefully not fifteen feet away.

Stiles groaned and rolled to the side he had not landed on, getting to all fours before standing up.

"You asshole! Did you have to do that?!"

"You're fine. The pain is in your head." It said, barely glancing at him. The wings rippled again and folded back into that leather coat. That's… kinda awesome really. Not that he was going to admit that.

Stiles looked himself over and while it hurt, especially his hip and elbow where he landed, he couldn't find any scratches, bruises, not even a rip in his clothing. He hit his elbow hard enough, it should be bloody. Nothing. Huh. Whatever all this was, his body was elsewhere, the pain wasn't physical… It was in his mind? With that realization, the pain gradually faded. Cool.

Looking around, Stiles found himself in a nice little neighborhood. Seemed nice enough, but if it was, why did he bring him here?

"Where-"

"Are we?" The reaper shrugged, "We're multitasking. I still have work to do." With that, he started down the sidewalk.

Stiles blinked, staring after him. He could run, death didn't appear too concerned, which was worrying. He had wings, if he wanted to come after Stiles, it's not like it would be a challenge to catch him. But why...

There were too many questions. What happened? Was he really just in a car accident? Why did the freaking Grim Reaper bring him here? Did he cause the "accident"? Did he know who did? He said he wanted to chat. The embodiment of death does not kidnap people just to chat. Right?

If he walked away right now, the reaper might let him go, and he could go back to the hospital to- What? Stare at his body? It's not like had any clue how to get back in himself. His friends might be able to help, if he could get them to realize he wasn't exactly all there. Lydia felt something before, he knew it. Maybe Deaton could whip up some voodoo, preform a séance or something. Yeah, right. This was all ifs and maybes. Hopes and wishes. Stiles didn't know how to do any of this.

The one with all the answers was walking away.

That way led to danger and death, literally and figuratively. It's not like it's ever stopped him before. Stiles was always a very curious individual. He got it from his dad. He just had to know. Had to find the body in the woods. Had to know who her killer was. Had to find out who was preforming human sacrifices, despite repeatedly being told not to, that it's not his job. He couldn't let it go. Dog with a bone.

 _What am I doing here?_

~Teen Wolf~

Malia returned with snacks and plopped back into her seat beside Lydia. "Who wants coke? I got barbeque chips and sour cream and chives chips."

Lydia resisted glaring at her. How could she be nonchalant about this? She and Stiles used to date, even if they were broken up now, she had to feel something for him. Lydia reminded herself that Malia had lived in in a different world as a coyote until recently, she still saw things differently. Just the same, she was irritated at her attitude and envied it at the same time.

"No thanks." She muttered. Scott echoed her. Liam took a bag of chips.

The sheriff returned and sat down across from them. Seconds after he sat down he was up again and pacing.

"Sheriff…" Scott tried, but Noah waved him off and didn't pause. "I'm fine Scott."

He walked stiffly, anger and worry in every step. What was it with Stilinski men? Always saying they were fine when they weren't?

Scott perked up and got to his feet. Lydia peered at him, wondering what he had heard or smelled or whatever and found out a few seconds later when Melissa rounded the corner into the waiting room.

"Is he ok?" Scott said, hope in his voice.

"How is he?" The Sherriff asked at the same time, his pacing forgotten.

Melissa held up a hand to stop further questions.

"He just came out of surgery, he's stable for now."

Lydia let out the breath she had been holding in, Scott found her fingers and squeezed them lightly.

"But," Melissa continued, "He's in ICU. He has a broken collar bone, torn ligaments in his right shoulder, two fractured ribs on his right side, a little internal bleeding but they already stitched that up. And a nasty head wound we're kinda worried about. And a concussion. He's sleeping for now."

"When will he wake up?" Noah asked.

"Should be in a few hours, but with that head wound, could be longer. You know we are going to do everything we can for him." Sheriff nodded, his mouth set in a grim line.

She didn't say he was going to be ok. Maybe it was training as a nurse thing, covering all bases.

In case he wasn't going to be ok.

~Teen Wolf~

It was a trap, it had to be.

Stiles ran after him, the reaper hadn't gotten far, it had only been seconds.

"Work? Like taking people's souls? Or scaring teenagers to death? Is that how you do it?"

He only got a smirk in response. Stiles slowed down and walked beside him.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Another shrug. Stiles was getting sick of those. "Call it curiosity."

"Curiosity? Hate to break it to you, but I'm really not that fascinating. Just normal everyday guy here, that's me. So you can drop me off back in my body and we can pretend this never happened." Stiles said, gesturing with his hands.

The reaper hummed.

Stiles bristled in frustration. Time for a change of tactics. "So who are you killing today?" _Other than me._

The reaper glanced at him this time, then back at the road. "I'm not killing anyone. Whatever you think of me kid, good, evil… I just do my part to keep the scales balanced."

"What?" Stiles looked at him in confusion. This guy had the cryptic thing down, it was really getting on his nerves.

The Angel of Death stopped and looked at him. "The world needs balance. Look at nature. You have little rabbits happily munching away on plants or whatever they eat on an island, not a care in the world. Eventually the happy little rabbits multiply and exhaust their food supply. How long will they live then, hmm? The majority of them only survive because of predators, hawks, wolves and such. The predators keep the rabbit population down, which keeps the plantation from being exhausted. Life goes on. Balance. Without it, everything falls apart."

Stiles stared at him for a moment in shock. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Is that all we are to you? A bunch of happy go lucky rabbits? Is that why there is so much death in the world? Pointless war? Why mothers lose their children? Why children lose their mothers?!" His voice was rising the longer he spoke. Did none of it mean anything to this guy? Was he that heartless? Was this just a job to this guy? Taking people away from loved ones? From the people who still needed them?

"No, of course not-"

"There are horrible things in this world. Evil, evil people. Kanimas, happy trigger hunters, Hitler, you name it.-"

"Alright, not the best metaphor. Stiles-"

"And what, all those things, all that chaos, and it's just culling the herd?! Well screw you!"

Stiles could swear he could see a hint of regret in the reaper's eyes. Good.

"I didn't say it was a perfect system, Stiles. It's just one way of looking at it." The reaper said, his tone gentle.

Stiles laughed. There was no humor in it. "The world isn't that black and-"

"No it isn't," the reaper interrupted him, "You're right. There's chaos in the world. Evil people. People that make impossible choices. But you're only seeing a fraction of the picture. What did you do Stiles? What did you and your friends do when the happy trigger hunters came knocking at your door? What do the good police men and women at your father's station do?"

He didn't answer. It stuck a cord somewhere, and a memory that seemed a lifetime ago.

 _Lying on the floor, can't move, forced immobile by Jackson's poison. No, he corrected himself, the Kanima's poison. Jackson wasn't Jackson right now. Speaking of, the Kanima was still there, watching over Stiles and Derek, waiting for his next command by his master._

 _"_ _Hey," He whispered, trying not to draw Jackson's attention, "You know what's happening to Matt?"_

 _"_ _You know, the book's not going to help him. You can't just break the rules, not like this" Derek replied in the same whispered tone._

 _"_ _What do you mean?"_

 _"_ _Universe balances things out. Always does."_

 _"_ _Is it because he's using Jackson to kill people who don't deserve it?"_

 _"_ _Killing people himself."_

 _"_ _So if Matt breaks the rules of the Kanima, he becomes the Kanima?"_

 _"_ _Balance." Derek agrees._

The reaper smiled. "Balance. There are horrible things in the world. If no one stands up and fights against it, the world could be swallowed by it."

"We would be better off without the horrible things." Stiles replied.

"True." The reaper resumed walking again. Almost as an afterthought, he spoke again. "But then the happy rabbits would eat the food supply, where would you be then? Come on, we are wasting time."

Author's Notes: Sorry it's short, but the next one will be longer, and also darker.

I'm curious as to what you think of the conversation at the end. And the rest of it too of course, but I was kind of happy with that conversation.

Comments are amazing, you should post one. Stiles says so.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author notes:  
** So this chapter is darker than the rest so far. There is domestic violence, attempted murder, murder, etc.

I am still looking for a beta if anyone is interested, especially for the next chapter.

 **Chapter 4**

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.  
-Winston Churchill

They let them in to see him, a few people at a time. The Sheriff went first.

"Hey kid." He said, sitting in the chair beside his son. "I thought we agreed on no more hospitals." His tone was light, with a little accusation thrown in.

They had been here more often than anyone should. Hell, Stiles had practically lived here for a little while. He was here every day after school for months. So was Noah when he could be, back then. Claudia was something else. He missed her now. She would know what to do.

Stiles always had a curious nature, one that Noah encouraged when he was little. Of course he regretted it later, Stiles always had a way of getting into trouble, but he wouldn't change him. They used to do little games, find clues, form a picture of a scene, and come to a solution to a problem. Stiles learned better when he was in motion, doing something. He got too antsy staying in one place too long, especially when he was little. It wasn't crimes of course, just fun, simple things like finding Claudia's cookies. Sometimes it was finding Claudia, who was somewhere in the house, or in the neighborhood (With Noah never far behind his son. He refused to help, and grinned when he found a carefully hidden clue, or a false one) She would give him a big hug, swing him around in a circle and tell him how proud she was of her big boy. He was so happy then, Noah loved watching them together. Those games trickled to a stop when she got sick.

Noah tore his eyes away from the spot he had been staring at for the last three minutes, the wound on his son's head that now had three staples in it to keep it closed. He had always worried that his son's curious nature would get him into more trouble than he could talk his way out of. Then he found out about werewolves, banshees, kanimas (Kinamees?) and this entire magical (dangerous) universe outside Noah's logical one. There was always things that went unexplained, but this… This was something else. And his son was smack dab in the middle of it. He didn't try to stop him though, ok, maybe a couple times, but not really. It was part of who Stiles was, and he didn't want to dampen that. Alright, maybe dampen the part where he stole vehicles right under the department's (his) nose and kidnap other teenagers. At least he knew the reasons behind it now and could almost justify the reasons behind it if not condone how he did it. He was protecting people, and that, the Sheriff could stand behind.

Was it something similar that landed him here? Was it just a car accident? You never knew these days, not in Beacon Hills. He trusted his men, they were good people, but this was his son. His people didn't know to look for the supernatural, with the exception of Parrish. This was Parrish's night off, of course, just when it seemed almost peaceful after the whole thing with the Dread Doctors and their Beast. The operator who took Lydia's call was still fairly new, due to some recent vacancies, and didn't alert the Sheriff right away to a car accident. He would have a talk with her later about that, when he was calmer. He had bigger things to worry about now. He knew Scott would try to go out there later, just to make sure it wasn't his type of problem, but not until he saw Stiles. His injuries were not so bad, he would need a little physical therapy perhaps with his shoulder, and they could deal with that. The head trauma was the worst of it, he got knocked on the head pretty good, kid was lucky he didn't crack his skull. He would wake up soon. He had too.

Noah sighed and squeezed his son's fingers, just to let him know he was there. He sat with him in silence for a while.

~Teen Wolf~

"So what's the point of all this? Why am I here?"

"Enough questions for now, we're here."

"But-"

"Shh."

They stood in front of a little one story house, not much different from where Stiles lived. Except this place seemed more ominous somehow. Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the fact that he was all ghosty and just walked through a mailbox.

The reaper didn't wait for him, just walked right through the wall. Stiles rolled his eyes. He couldn't have gone two feet to the left through the door? Didn't need to open the door, but still, it was the principle of the thing.

Just before he got to the door Stiles heard angry yelling. He couldn't make out the words, but the livid tone was enough. Definitely a man's timbre. He held his breath, closed his eyes and walked through the door.

No, there wasn't a real reason why he held his breath, it was just too weird still. He didn't like the cold feeling every time he walked through something, it was like it wasn't actually there, or he wasn't.

As soon as he came through the wooden barrier, he could understand the words. He wasn't just angry, but angry and drunk. The reaper said he had work to do. Someone was about to die. Shit.

He followed the noise to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway when he saw it.

There was a short, dark-haired woman pressed up against a counter, bruises already forming on her face, one on her cheek, another just below her eye, a shallow cut there. Tears were running down her face Stiles had been right, angry drunk, mostly likely husband or boyfriend. This had obviously been going on for a while before they had showed up. He barely noticed the reaper standing off to the side, apart from the scene, his face unreadable.

"I'm sorry, I never-" Her voice broke.

"Enough of the sorries, bitch, enough of the damn sorries. I have had it with your fucking lies!" The drunk's voice went up a notch. "I know you were with him!" He punched her in the cheek again, hard enough to knock her to the floor. She knocked a beer bottle off the counter as she fell. Stiles winced at the sound of it hitting the floor. Parts of the broken bottle scattered across the floor, some of which went under (in?) Stiles' foot.

"Stop this! No one needs to die here!" Stiles yelled but the reaper just shook his head sadly.

"Unfortunately kid, need doesn't factor into it." The reaper seemed a little regretful, but it was more than that. The words were firm, there was a hint of, not anger, it was more like rage. Just for a split second, then all emotion drained from his face as if it were never there.

The woman let out a sob, dazed from the blow.

The ghostly teen looked for a way to stop this, but all he could see were weapons. The knives pushed up against the counter just behind the man, the shards of glass on the floor, even the soup cans stacked on the counter against the wall. His dad's voice ran through his mind (Or maybe CSI, could have been both.), _with enough force, anything can be used as a weapon._

"Please, don't-"

"Shut up bitch!" She kept crying. The tears flowed more freely now.

"Get away from her!" Stiles tried to hit him as hard as he could, only to fall through the man with his momentum on to his hands and knees. Alright, he might have watched too many movies, but in Ghost, Patrick Swayze could move things if he concentrated hard enough. That didn't seem to be the case here. Maybe he needed more practice. He didn't want to be like this long enough to need to practice.

He looked to the reaper again, getting up off the floor. "Why are you doing this?!"

The reaper said nothing. He moved to the woman's side and bent down next to her. When he did, Stiles' panic doubled, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Was that even real? Or another illusion his mind created, like the pain from earlier when he fell only to disappear moments later?

"Pl-please stop, it was only you baby, only-" Her voice was broken with sobs.

"I said shut up, no more lies!" He turned slightly, wobbling slightly as he did so and grabbed a knife out of the block behind him.

"No," Stiles turned to the reaper. "Stop, she doesn't need to die."

"Stiles-" The reaper said, placing a hand on her shoulder, she didn't react to it.

"No! Look, you brought me here for a reason, ok? Just stop this! … Her for me." The last words were quieter but just as serious.

"You would do that for a stranger?" There was something in the reaper's eyes, bewilderment? Wonder? Both? There wasn't time to consider it.

Stiles spared a glance to the woman. Bleeding, sobbing for her life. He didn't know her, what kind of person she was. Maybe she cheated on this guy, maybe she didn't. She didn't deserve death for it.

He returned his gaze back to the Grim Reaper. "Yes."

"I've had enough out of you! I bet those tears aren't- aren't even real." The asshole took a step towards her.

"No!" Stiles said and stepped in between the two. He couldn't do much, but he had to try. He tensed up. This was it.

Facing the man, Stiles didn't see the reaper's grip on the woman tighten or him whispering something in her ear.

~Teen Wolf~

"Hey Stiles." Scott said. He waved a recess candy bar at his friend and then awkwardly sat it down on the table.

"We need you buddy. You need to wake up soon, ok?"

He plopped his butt in the chair with a sigh. Possibilities ran though his mind. She hadn't said exactly, but Lydia wasn't sure he was going to make it. His mom and the doctors didn't know either.

What if there was brain damage? What if he never woke up? What if Scott could do something? Turning someone was always a risk. He had only done it once, to save a life, what if he could do it again? Liam was healthy though, alright, broken leg that Scott still felt guilty for, even if it had long since healed. Stiles on the other hand, was much worse off. He was already weak right now. Could Stiles survive it? Could Stiles survive without it? He could just end up killing him faster. Then there was the consent issue. Stiles had never asked for the bite. It wasn't something they had talked about much, even after the Nogitsune.

He slid his fingers through Stiles'. Scott ran a little hotter now since he became a werewolf, but Stiles' seemed colder than he should be. He stared at their entwined hands as he drained some of the pain away. The drugs were helping, and he was asleep, so there was that. Something felt off, but he had no clue as to what it was. Maybe it was just worry for his friend, his brain looking for problems where there were none. Maybe. He could be worrying over nothing and Stiles will wake up in a little while cracking jokes. Maybe.

There were too many maybes.

This wasn't something he could decide on his own. He wanted to talk to the Sheriff, to Derek, Deaton, even to Peter.

No.

Not to Peter. They could all do without that.

~Teen Wolf~

"Waaahhhh!" Somewhere in the house, an infant cried.

The man looked away from the woman, towards the sound. His features twisted into a look of disgust. "That fucking baby of yours, you both-"

The woman kicked out from her position on the floor as soon as he looked away, striking his knee as hard as she could. He screamed and tumbled backward. She lunged forward, straight through Stiles who immediately backed away. She had a glass shard from the bottle in her hand and she didn't hesitate to use it, stabbing into his lower left side. He screamed again and tried to shove her off of him. He did partially but not completely. He tried to stab her with the knife he still held in his right hand, twisting his body, moving the glass inside him. He yelled out again, cursing her. She attempted to dodge the blow but was still dazed from the earlier knocks to the head. He managed to make a deep slash in her arm.

Crying out, she grabbed for the knife. They both held on, but he was stronger, she couldn't turn it away from herself.

She shifted her weight onto him suddenly, putting pressure on his wounded side. He let out a pained gasp and his grip on the blade loosened. It was enough. She turned the blade and pushed down and upward into his torso, just below his ribs.

Stiles wasn't an expert on anatomy, that was more Lydia's thing, but he thought from the angle of the blade it went upward right into one of his lungs. Was the liver on the left or the right side? If she hit that then he wouldn't have long. If she just punctured a lung, he could survive, given treatment in time. If she managed to hit one of the arteries or veins, the man had minutes, maybe less.

Stiles stared in shock as the man started coughing and blood stained his lips. The woman scrambled a few feet away and puked. The teen felt like doing the same but he couldn't, no body no bile. If the situation were different he would have laughed but there was no humor here.

The man muttered something, but Stiles couldn't make it out, he was trying to focus more on the reaper now.

The reaper had a hand on her back as she was hunched over on her hands and knees, still puking. She glanced at the man- her husband who she just stabbed not once but twice.

The man slowly reached up and put his hand on the knife.

She stumbled back to his side, not bothering to stand up. "No, no, no. Don't take it out. God, Henry, I'm so sorry. So s-s-sorry." Her voice broke. "Stay with me, ok?"

"You bloody bitch." He muttered, coughing up more blood. There was blood everywhere now, he was bleeding out fast, maybe she did knick an artery after all. It stained the floor, the woman's clothes, her hands and knees, everywhere.

The man's eyes drifted shut. "No! Stay with me Henry!" She slapped him hard. His eyelids fluttered, but remained closed. He was still breathing but quickly falling unconscious. She quickly reached into his pocket, he barely stirred as she pulled out his cellphone. She jammed at the phone, in her hurry she had to start again and then it was ringing.

"You knew." Stiles said, frustration and accusation in his voice.

The reaper didn't look at him, his intense gaze never left the woman. "I don't know everything kid, I just knew I was about to be needed."

"Bullshit."

The still nameless woman was speaking into the phone now, she had called 911 but Stiles wasn't listening to the conversation. There wasn't anything he could do to help. This entire time, he had tried, but he couldn't stop it. He was helpless, always helpless. What was the point? Not for the first time, a man had died in front of him, and there was nothing he could do.

No wait, he wasn't dead yet. However Stiles didn't need a Grim Reaper to know he didn't have long.

The baby cried again. No, had been crying the whole time, but it had turned into background noise during the… the fight.

The woman who had the phone in-between her neck and head to listen while keeping her hands free, had grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it gingerly around the blade, trying to staunch the bleeding. Stiles barely noticed when she said boyfriend over the phone, not husband.

What seemed like forever ago, Stiles had taken a CPR and BLS (Basic Life Support) class. It had been before Scott was turned, at his dad's insistence. Regretfully now, he hadn't paid a lot of attention then. It was early on a Saturday morning, when he should have been sleeping in. Stiles was always naturally curious, but he didn't want to be there at the time, he was only there because his dad wanted him there. While it was useful to know, what did Stiles really need this for in a town that nothing happened? Plus the whole thing made him queasy, he had never really had a stomach for blood. Funny, since he had dealt with dead bodies well enough, but blood and needles, he had fainted more than once over. Nightmares of cutting Derek's arm off didn't help, even if it hadn't turned out that way in reality.

It was fairly quiet and boring until Scott was turned. The whole thing was laughable now, Stiles had kicked himself a number of times for not paying rapt attention then. Thankfully, most of his friends didn't need it and healed just fine on their own. He had meant to go to another class, but there never seemed to be enough time, always too much going on. He remembered now, the instructor telling the class to put pressure on a wound to keep the bleeding down, in an attempt to give them time until a real medic showed up. That if there was something, say, a blade in them, not to move it, it would just make it worse. But he hadn't mentioned what to do to stop the bleeding if there was something inside, or if he did, Stiles couldn't remember. If pressure was placed on the wound with the knife still inside, the blade could accidently go in deeper, or twist and only cause more damage. So what to do?

The woman seemed to realize this and her hands hovered over Henry, hesitating. She asked what to do over the phone, but Stiles couldn't hear the answer from where he was.

It didn't matter, Henry's breathing slowed and then stopped altogether. CPR was useless with the kitchen knife in his chest. He was dead. Stiles realized it just before the woman did. She dropped the phone, and Stiles could see it in her eyes when she gave up. She just stared at her boyfriend in despair. He may have tried to kill her, but she still felt something for him.

The operator on the phone was still trying to talk to her, asking what was going on, but was ignored. The reaper, still hovering over her bent down again and whispered something.

"Hey, leave her alone!" Stiles yelled. The woman's eyes changed ever so slightly and her gaze snapped toward the sound of the baby crying and stood up.

She spared one last glance at Henry, then walked out the room. She paused, looking down at herself, her clothes were soaked in still warm blood. Fresh tears rolled down her face and she changed course. She wanted nothing more than to comfort her child, and be comforted in return, but not like this. She couldn't sully her baby like this. She turned towards the bathroom.

Stiles wanted to follow so badly, make sure she wasn't about to do anything rash. He wanted to check on the baby. Not yet.

"What did you say to her?"

"Time to go." The reaper said, expressionless.

"What? No! After all that you're just going to leave? What about her? What about the baby? What about- aren't you supposed to take his soul or something?"

The reaper turned his attention to the dead man on the floor, his expression hardened, was that disgust on his face? "That's already taken care of." The look was gone when he turned back to Stiles. "Come on, time to go." He started towards the teen, extending a hand to place on Stiles' shoulder to steer him out of the kitchen.

Stiles stepped back, reeling away. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Not until I make sure she and the-the baby are ok." Surprisingly the reaper let his hand fall and nodded. "Alright."

Stiles backed out of the room, keeping his eyes on the reaper and carefully not looking down at the dead man on the floor. When he reached the doorway he turned and followed the drips of blood to a closed door. She had been wounded too, after all. He could hear running water and muffled crying on the other side of the door. He didn't go in. This was a private moment, and she didn't need an intruder, one she could see or not invading on a vulnerable moment, to say the least. After a moment of deliberation he turned away and walked to the baby's room. The reaper followed at a distance.

She wasn't in a crib, she was in one of those portable play pens, padded well so it could double as a bed. Definitely a she, dressed in pink with a little teddy bear holding a yellow balloon printed on her onesie. She had kicked the pink with white Zebra Stripes blanket off her in her fit.

Being an only child, Stiles had very little experience with babies. She looked like 8 months maybe? A year? He didn't know. She was an adorable child, would be more so if her face wasn't scrunched up and currently bawling her little heart out. He wanted to comfort her, tell her everything was going to be ok, or at least cover her with the blanket.

"Are they going to be ok?" He asked, raising his voice to be heard over her cries. God, he hated that sound. He didn't bother turning around, he knew the reaper was there, watching them. Grim moved from his position, leaning against the doorframe to the other side of the playpen, facing Stiles. The girl's cries wavered and her eyes were drooping. Stiles wondered if she would cry herself to sleep.

"Should be. Police should see it was self-defense. This little one will probably be put with a family member or child services until it's sorted out. Then, assuming everything goes right, she should be back with her mother."

Stiles closed his eyes. He knew all this, but it was good to hear it. In the distance he could hear sirens over the baby's' cries. He opened his eyes. The little girl would be alright. He went back to the hallway. The shower had stopped.

"It's time to go now."

"Go where? I still don't know why I'm here! Why did you show me this?!"

The reaper cocked his head and gave a small, barely there smile. "You have somewhere to be, don't you?"

Stiles sighed in frustration. His shoulders slumped. "What's her name?" He said solemnly, staring at the bathroom door.

"Audrey. Her name is Audrey. Her daughter is Emily."

Stiles nodded. "If you're going to take me, can I at least say goodbye first?"

"What?"

Stiles couldn't look at him, he stared resolutely at the door.

"Me for her, right? She lived." He couldn't say anything else, the words stuck in his throat. Silence seemed to stretch on forever before the reaper answered.

Lydia had just gone in with Stiles a few minutes ago. Scott sat with Stiles' dad, a little apart from the others. He hoped they were not trying to listen in.

"It could save him?" Noah asked.

"Or it could kill him. I don't know if he's strong enough to survive the bite right now. I don't know if he could survive even if were perfectly healthy." Scott said. This was no time to lie, his best friend's life was on the line.

The Sheriff nodded. Scott looked to the floor while the sheriff thought it over.

"We need to wait and see. If- when he wakes up, we can ask what he wants."

Scott nodded. The sheriff wanted to go over all the evidence, and come to the best solution, the logical answer. "Of course. I agree with you. But if we wait too long and he gets worse…"

"I know Scott." He said, a little too loudly. Scott nodded again. He couldn't have finished the sentence anyway. This wasn't a conversation anyone wanted to have.

He went to call Derek again.

~Teen Wolf~

"Ah, No Stiles, you should know the world doesn't work that way. If it did it would be very different."

The panic and fear building in his chest broke like a dam. He was so relieved. For a moment. He was still in the hospital, injured, and standing next to a grim reaper at the same time. He wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Then why won't you tell me why I'm here?" He said, turning to look at him.

The Reaper considered him for a moment. "I wanted to see."

Stiles stared at him in confusion. "See what? See how I would react when someone dies right in front of me and there's nothing I can do about it? Again? I could have told you that one! Badly!"

"To see if he managed it."

Before Stiles could reply to that confusing answer, the bathroom door opened. Audrey had changed clothes. Her hair was slightly damp and messy. He could see her hands were still a little red with blood and she had missed a bit of blood on her face. She hadn't tended to the wound on her arm except to wash some of the blood away. Her face was still red and blotchy from crying. She hadn't enough time to get it all, her hair was still mostly dry, not ten minutes had passed since she had dropped the phone. The sirens were closer now, nearly there.

The reaper pulled Stiles away. "Time to go," The reaper repeated. Stiles let him this time.

He flinched when he faced him again. The wings were back, and more, his skin was tinged with grey. Stiles couldn't hold back the whimper when he was grabbed and they were suddenly in the air again.

Audrey, cleaner now, went to Emily, immediately pulling the child into her arms and hushed her Telling her repeatedly it was going to be ok, she was going to be fine. She took her to the front door, staying clear from the kitchen. She opened the door just as the police started knocking.

~Teen Wolf~

Scott and Malia had gone back to the scene of the accident to see if they had missed anything before that the police wouldn't see. Liam had to go home. Scott had tried to convince Lydia to go home and get some rest. She told him she would call if anything changed.

The Sherriff, hating the idea of leaving his son behind, eventually went to find out all the evidence his men had found at the scene of the… the accident. He'd told Scott he would let him know what he found out and later they would discuss the evidence and determine if this was an accident or something more.

In the meantime, Lydia sat with Stiles.

She hated seeing him like this. Lying still where he should be practically vibrating in his seat, he could never stay in one place for long. She held his hand in hers, and in the other she held her phone, waiting for it to ring with news.

"Hey."

She looked up at the deep voice. Wow, surprise, surprise. She hadn't heard from the werewolf in months.

"Derek? How did you-?"

"Scott called. Melissa filled me in, how is he doing?" Derek said, staring down at the boy.

"If you talked to Melissa, you already know." She replied. Her eyes slid to the figure on the bed then snapped back to Derek when he spoke again.

"Yes," He said, coming closer to the bed. "But I'm asking you." The look he gave her, she knew the other silent question on his mind.

"He's healing. Slowly. They think he has a chance." She squeezed Stiles' hand in hers lightly, daring him to squeeze back. He didn't.

Derek remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There's something wrong, Derek… I didn't say anything to Scott but…" Derek tensed up, ever so slightly. Words rarely failed Lydia, but she didn't know how to express it.

"Derek, I look at him, and it's- he's not there."

"That's just shock Lydia, he's-"

"No, Derek. I can _feel_ it." She looked back own at the boy in the bed. She wanted to see those mischievous eyes, always planning something. See the smirk at the corners of his lips that softened ever so slightly when he looked at her. Instead she saw the blank face of the deeply asleep and scratches and bruises here and there on his face. He didn't look happy, or sad, or even in pain. Small blessing as that was, there was something wrong. The longer she stared at him, the more she knew.

"Something is missing. He isn't in there."

 _Stiles is gone._

She didn't say the words.


	5. Chapter 5

Author Notes: I'm not completely happy with how part of this chapter went down, but a particularly long conversation needed to happen and I hope it expresses everything it was meant to. If not, please let me know and I will fix it- without going to far, I'm trying to keep a few things for laters, for plot and all that. There are a few revelations in this chapter, or at least the beginning of revelations.

Also, if you haven't checked out my other story, _Werewolves, Banshees, Zombies, Oh My!_ Then please do. If you have, then you might be pleased to know that I am working on a second chapter and it won't be the one-shot I planned on.

I would love to hear what you think is going on. No, seriously, I really want to know.

 **Chapter 5**

"Death is not the worst thing that can happen to men" –Plato

The Jeep had already been towed away by the time Scott and Malia arrived. The cops were already gone, deeming this an accident, thus not needing much of an investigation. It was a common thing after all, a teenager speeding down a road when the signs clearly say the limit is 45, or he got distracted by something, etc. Teenagers getting into car accidents wasn't exactly a new thing, unfortunately it happened all the time.

But this was Stiles.

Could it really just be an accident?

"This is where we found him." Scott said, looking down at the spot. Malia, standing beside him, followed his gaze. There was still blood there, long since dried now.

With their flash lights they could see where the Jeep hit. The tree itself had very little damage, it was too solid, just a few pieces of bark missing, some on the ground, some probably embedded in the Jeep and the wood splintered around where it hit. Around the tree, however, were shards of glass from the window shield, one of the front headlights and a few scraps of metal.

"There's nothing here." Scott said.

He knew he should have looked earlier when he was here. The place had been trampled by the cops, filling the place with their smells. They weren't going to find anything they didn't already know about.

"There's nothing here." Scott repeated, livid. He turned and punched the tree beside where Stiles had been found. This shouldn't have happened.

"Scott."

He punched the tree again with his other hand. Leaves and small broken branches drifted down. Maybe it was supernatural, maybe it wasn't. But Stiles was in the hospital unconscious and there was nothing he could do about it. Scott felt so helpless. He had to do something, and instead he's standing in the woods, being useless.

"Scott!"

He went to punch it again and Malia caught his bloody fist. Didn't matter, it would heal. "Scott! He's going to be ok. I know you're angry, I am too. But he's going to pull through. We've all been through a lot, it's going to take more than a stupid car accident to take him down."

Scott stared into her eyes for a moment and nodded. She was right. "Alright, let's go." He said. He glanced at where Stiles was laying just a few hours ago and started to head back to his bike.

CRACK!

He whipped his head around to see Malia shaking her own bloody fist out and more leaves drifting down from the tree.

"What? You're the only one who can take it out on trees?" She demanded.

Scott smiled and pulled her into a one-armed hug. She hugged back. "You're right. He's going to be fine. Going to need physical therapy for that arm, but he'll be ok."

"I know." She sighed. They started to leave again when Scott froze and looked down.

"What is it?" Malia asked. Scott moved his foot off of the object he just stepped on.

Malia looked down and huffed. "It's nothing, it fell out of the tree when we punched it. Let's go."

"Wait." Scott bent down and picked it up. He ran his fingers against it and gasped.

His phone rang and he answered it glancing at the screen and then back at the object in his other hand.

"Sheriff, I found something."

"What is it? I'll be right there."

"No need, I'll bring it to you. Meet you back at the hospital?" Neither of them wanted to stay away from the hospital for too long.

The Sheriff hesitated but he agreed.

~Teen Wolf~

Stiles had never had acrophobia, the fear of heights, not with how often he had climbed out of his window and into Scott's, but he feared he was developing it now. Or perhaps it was just the fear of flying, he couldn't recall the name of that particular phobia. He hadn't been in airplanes much. He was in one when he and his parents went on a few family vacations, but that had been years ago. He remembered being nervous then, the initial takeoff was a little frightening, but it was okay once they got in the air. He played games with his mom and dad and went to the bathroom more often than was strictly necessary, more from the desire to move than the need to use said bathroom.

This though?

This was utterly terrifying. Exhilarating. Nerve-wracking.

Last time he was facing the ground, this time they were chest against chest. Seeing the world that way, was bad enough. It's worse when he can't see what is happening. He couldn't see the ground, but it was easier to hang on for dear life this way with both his arms and legs. The reaper didn't seem to like the way he was holding on but Stiles really didn't care. If he didn't like it, walking or driving was perfectly fine. Absolutely fine, because he could feel every single movement this way. Every flap of the wings, every fresh gust of air, and every slight shift and turn, everything. Hell, he could feel any muscle twitch of the man holding him as he flew. He was built by the way. Not weight lift champion built, more like a runner, or flyer, in this case. Lean and hard, a little like Stiles, if Stiles had muscles like that.

Like most kids, Stiles used to dream of flying. Used to go on the swing set in elementary school, close his eyes and pretend he was a bird soaring though the air. And then get into a competition with Scott and other kids to see who could jump the farthest, usually ending up in a few scraped knees. God knows he had more than one twisted ankle from that, he wasn't the only one, but it was worth it at the time. Stiles had no fricking clue what it was really like then, but he was certainly getting a taste of it now. Every now and then they would go up a few feet, or drop down a little ways suddenly, making Stiles' stomach lurch. For the first time, he was glad he was a spirit right now, otherwise his pants might be wet. That would just be too awkward and embarrassing, especially considering he was hanging on to another guy.

He had to stop thinking about it, he needed to think about something else before he freaked out more than he already was.

Stiles gripped tighter when they dropped a few feet, he wondered if it was just to freak him out and he mumbled something about how Death was a show-off ass hat. He got to see a glimpse of the reaper's back and it was weird. He could see the wings coming out of him, but the weird part was the hole in his black t-shirt. There wasn't one. The wings were coming straight out of the shirt, almost like the shirt was a part of him just as much as the wings were. Like any shirt, it blew around in the wind, loose, like any article of clothing, but around the wings it just melted into his skin. Wha… How? The coat became the wings. Maybe it was magical? This wasn't Harry Potter, magic doesn't work like that. Right? The grim reaper was something out of a dream, or a nightmare, and like dreams, he didn't completely make sense.

He couldn't see much of the night sky past the wings. They were beautiful, in a daunting sort of way. The feathers looks soft and fine from a distance, moved in the breeze like any winged creature should, but up close and personal they were harder than any bird feather he had ever seen. It reminded him of going to a museum on a school field trip back in 7th? No, 8th grade. Most of the students found it boring, except for the interactive parts in the science section. That part was cool and all, but Stiles liked looking at the statues. One can learn a lot about the history of a place, a time, by the art. Not that all of it was interesting, he got bored staring at paintings with the group and convinced Scott to break off the group and explore a little bit. He had wanted to try to get in to see some of the stuff the museum was restoring. Supposedly there was a mummy back there somewhere, but it wasn't on display. They didn't get that far, an employee caught them within a minute of going into an 'employees only' door and ended up with a detention once they got back to the school. However, when the employee was taking them back to their teacher, swiftly followed by a security guard, (Their respective parents were _not_ pleased.) he remembers seeing a statue of a bird of prey. He thinks it was a hawk or something catching a fish. It caught his eye because it was so detailed. It was black metal, he couldn't recall what type. Each feather appeared to be individually crafted and welded on. It was very well done, it seemed almost like a moment frozen in time, as if any moment the bird was going to take off with that wriggling fish, fly around the museum and eat it in the rafters. These feathers were not metal, no, they remind him of stone. As if they were _living_ stone. But that was impossible, right? Birds, in general, are small and light for a reason, their bones are hollow, right? Sure, you can get a big hunk of metal to fly, but not without a great big engine. Maybe they weren't stone, just supernaturally tough, yet light feathers. Well, why not?

The wind changed and- they were falling, they were falling!

Stiles squeaked and held on tighter, for a normal person he might be constricting breathing, but just this second he didn't care. _Oh my God, I'm gonna die._

"You can let go now." Said an annoyed, strained, voice above him. It took him a second to realize they had stopped moving. He pried his eyes open, not realizing he closed them in the first place, and looked down. He promptly let go and stumbled back on wobbly legs, so incredibly thankful to be on solid ground. They landed on a roof, Stiles couldn't see the road from where he was, but he could see part of the building next to him. It appeared to be an apartment building from the little balconies sprouting out from it. It seemed familiar, but he didn't recognize it.

The flood gate that kept him from speaking while in the air broke. "I am never doing that again. There is not going to be any more flying for Stiles, ever again. I can walk, okay? Or drive, or freaking crawl if I need to, but I am keeping my feet on the ground!" He gestured frantically, talking very quickly and animated. With the last word he gave a little stomp for emphasis.

The reaper crossed his arms and smirked at him and huffed out a laugh. "We'll see."

"Oh, no, no, no. I am done with the flying and cryptic grim reaper crap. What do you want from me? What does 'I want to see if he managed it' mean?!" Stiles mimicked the reapers voice, going a little deeper.

The reaper just looked him up and down, sizing him up for a moment. His wings remained wings, but he had gathered them close to his body, half folding around his shoulders, the tips touching the ground behind him. It was a little unsettling.

When the reaper finally spoke, it wasn't what Stiles had expected, which he should have since he hadn't gotten a straight answer out of him all night. "Tell me, where do you fit in, Stiles?"

"What?" Stiles gave him a bewildered look.

"Where do you fit in your little group? In the... pack? Isn't that what you call it?" The reaper tilted his head slightly and crossed his arms. Stiles opened his mouth, to shout, to scream, to tell the reaper exactly what he thought of his cryptic bullshit and then leave. He had better things to do than be toyed with. But before he could the reaper raised a hand, placating him if only for a moment. "You want answers to your questions? You really want to know? Then answer mine."

He seemed so sincere. Stiles paused for a moment and let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine, but not until you answer one thing. What's your name? You know so much about me, it's more than fair."

He chuckled, "Now you ask? Alright. You can call me Ash."

To say things were crazy earlier was an understatement, and Stiles had been a little preoccupied with other things. But he felt he needed to know. Ever since he found out myths and legends were real, he had tried to find out everything he could, he took pride in it. If he didn't, it could cost his life, his friends' lives or others. It already had. One thing he had found repeatedly was that names held power. He had seen proof of it, when Lydia got through to Jackson underneath the Kanima, when she had called to Mason and brought him back, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. This wasn't right, he knew it.

"That's not your name." He replied.

He got a shrug in response. "It's much my name as Stiles is yours. Ashiro. Ash for short. Now, answer the question."

"They're my friends, where else would I be?"

"A very loyal answer. But where do you fit in with werewolves, banshees, kitsunes? Do you know your role?"

Stiles bristled. "Hey, I may be human, but I do a lot. I-" He held back what he was about to say. "I don't need your validation!" Venom dripped from the words. It was something he had thought about so much after the last few years. He wasn't a fighter, and there had been times he felt so helpless, wanted to help his friends, but was unable to. Too weak, not fast enough, too fragile. It was something he avoided thinking about, but it was always there, in the back of his mind. He didn't do nothing, either. He came up with plans, or at least a back up plan when they needed one. This prick thinks he can come in and judge him? What gave him the right? He might be able to drag Stiles to hell if he felt like it, but it still wasn't cool.

"You're smart, kid, I know you've helped them, figured things out your friends couldn't, that's not the point. Do you know what you do?"

He wanted to scream in frustration. "What do you want me to say? That I'm the screw up? That I'm weak? That I'm the reason so many people have died? That I started this? I KNOW, OKAY? WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

Ash wrinkled his brow in confusion "What do you mean you started this?" He said calmly, ignoring Stiles' outburst.

Stiles laughed darkly but there was no humor in it. "That's what you take from it? You seem to know everything. I took Scott in the woods that night. He wouldn't have been a werewolf if it wasn't for me, and everything that followed. If he wasn't bitten, Jackson wouldn't have found out and turned into the Kanima. The Nogitsune used me to hurt everyone I care about!" He was breathing hard and his chest hurt, it wasn't a physical pain, but it hurt none the less. He wasn't sure why he unloaded all that. It was something he usually kept deep inside, at the back of his mind where he could deny it. It didn't always work.

Ash narrowed his eyes. "You think Scott becoming a werewolf was your fault?" The reaper shook his head. "Stiles, Your friend is a true alpha. Do you know how rare that is? Randomly becoming a werewolf is one thing, but randomly becoming a true alpha… It doesn't happen. True alphas form for a reason."

Looking into the reapers eyes, he didn't see the mirth that was there before, by all appearances he was sincere. "What do you mean? Like destiny or fate? There's no such thing." There was too much chaos in the world.

"You've heard it before. True alphas become alphas by their own merit, their own will. They don't need to steal the power. More than that, they become what they are out of necessity. It _might_ happen once in a century. Werewolf or not, Scott could have turned a blind eye, he could have joined his alpha, it would have been the easy route. Except he didn't." The reaper rocked back on his heels and shifted his weight. "Even if he wasn't out there that night, he would have been bitten eventually. By the same alpha or a different one. Maybe things would have turned out differently, maybe not."

This changed everything. If he was right. If he was telling the truth. Stiles wasn't sure if Ash could be trusted.

"So you're telling me that Scott was always going to be a true Alpha? He's the chosen one _?_ You read too many comic books. _"_

Ash snorted out a laugh. "Maybe not always, but it's not a coincidence. Most people have a certain..." He paused, trying to find the right word. He snapped his fingers. "Spark, let's say, a certain potential that can lean in a bad direction, good or in-between, if they ever tap into it. They can be like the hunters you mentioned, the police, marines, what have you. And then sometimes that spark ignites." As he said it, the reapers own eyes ignited, turning to a deep violet, just for a second then returning to their normal brown. "That person can become a great military leader, cure a disease-"

Stiles crossed his arms and glared. "Does this tangent have a point or are we going to stand on a roof all night?"

There was a gleam in the reaper's eye Stiles didn't like. "Or become a true alpha werewolf." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Or even a banshee."

Stiles' eyes widened. Lydia. She became a banshee when Peter bit her. That was old news, but they recently found out that her grandmother had visions of death, including her own. She even predicted years after her death that her killer would go after Lydia. She never became a full banshee but the potential was always there and she passed that on to Lydia. That was part of the potential Ash was talking about. That still didn't explain any of this. What did Stiles have to do with it? Why would a Grim Reaper be interested in him?

"Sometimes they need a push to get there, but it's always below the surface. Good, evil, or neutral. The balance must be maintained."

 _The balance must be maintained._

Stiles had heard those words before. Morell uttered those words when she told him she would give him an injection that would kill him if the Nogitsune became the victor over Stiles' body. The body snatcher didn't stick around long enough to give her the opportunity.

"Why are we here?" Stiles questioned. He took a half-step back and glanced around again, trying to keep it subtle. It was familiar, but it seemed different on the roof. The building next to them, he had driven past here several times before to get to down-town. Not often, this wasn't his normal route. He only used this one in case of horrific construction usually. He suddenly knew what building they were standing on is. It had recently been converted to a department store, but it used to be…

 _Oh._ Things were beginning to come together. Maybe, he hoped desperately he was wrong. Cause if he wasn't things were going to go from bad to worse for Stiles.

There wasn't a fast route out of here. He could dive off the roof but he knew they were several stories up. He may have miraculously healed once, falling a few feet, but he wasn't ready to test it again. Ashiro was between him and the door leading into the building.

The reaper took a step toward him and Stiles took a step back.

"You didn't really answer the question, Stiles, where do you fit in? What role do you fill?"

"Plans and a sense of humor?"

The reaper moved closer, Stiles backed up until his heels hit the raised edge that separated him from enjoying his stay on the roof and falling to uncertain doom. Or freedom. Or both.

"I don't know what's coming, but it's massive and your little pack could be essential. If he corrupted you, you could destroy them, and I can't have that."

"Wait, I would never hurt them! I-"

The reaper closed the gap between them and without further ado, grabbed Stiles by the shoulder with his left and with the right he plunged it into Stiles chest, grasping his heart.

There was no blood, no gaping hole. It was like when he fell through the counter and Melissa at the hospital.

Except it wasn't.

It glowed purple around the reaper's wrist.

It started to burn.

Stiles' eyes bulged and he started screaming.

~Teen Wolf~

Scott looked for his mom at the nurse's desk when they arrived at the hospital, but he didn't see her. So he and Malia headed straight for Stiles room. His mom was standing over Stiles fiddling with his IV bag. Lydia was right where he left her, sitting beside Stiles, alongside-

"Derek?"

Derek gave him quick nod. "I got your voicemail."

"You could have told me." Scott said, a little annoyed. At least he was here. He looked to the bed. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?" He looked questionably at his mother and other people in the room. Lydia dropped her gaze. Melissa looked at her son with those big wide sad eyes she had when she had bad news. There was silence for a moment except for the steady beep of the heart monitor attached to Stiles.

"Sometimes people need time to heal. We ran tests when he was brought in. Everything came back fine and there's no brain bleed. He will wake up when he wakes up."

Scott gave a curt nod, not knowing what to say.

"Did you find anything out there?" Derek asked, although it was more like a demand than a question.

Scott nodded again. "Yeah, but I want to wait until the Sheriff is here, he's on his…" Scott heard familiar footfalls coming down the hallway. "Way." He finished and not three seconds later the man himself entered the room, eyes finding his son before rounding to Scott.

"My men didn't find anything unusual, they figured he was going too fast and got into an accident. What did you find?"

Scott glanced at Malia and she shut the door. "Not much," He replied, reaching into his jacket, "I stepped on this as we were leaving. We, uh, it got knocked out of a tree." He carefully pulled out a sleek, black feather, maybe seven or eight inches long. It glinted in the light, making it shine green as he turned it over.

"You found… a feather… in the woods." The sheriff said. He looked at Scott like he was missing a few key feathers himself.

Lydia stood up, staring intently at it.

"It's not just any feather. It smells like earth, stone and water. It doesn't smell like any bird I've encountered in the preserve. It's stronger. And…" Scott ran his finger along the edge of it then showed his finger to the rest of the people in the room. A drop of blood fell to the floor from the shallow cut before the wound started to close, already healing. "Have you ever seen a feather do that?"

"What could do that?" Melissa asked.

"There's flying creatures now?" Noah asked. He looked around the room at each of their faces. "Did we know that?"

Scott and Malia looked to Derek who just shook his head. "There's the Kanima's alpha form, but that has leather wings."

"What? You never told me that." Scott said.

"Peter and I found out, didn't have a chance to tell you before Jackson turned. It didn't seem relevant after.

Lydia stepped forward and reached out for the feather. Scott gave it to her, warning her to be careful. He expected an annoyed look and a retort but she just regarded it calmly, almost entranced by it.

"Would Deaton know?" Malia asked.

Scott didn't answer, he was too busy watching the red-head. "Lydia?" He asked. Lydia hummed, gently turning it over in her fingers, careful not to cut herself.

"Do you sense something?" Scott asked gingerly.

"It feels calming. Inspiring."

"Inspiring to do what?" Malia asked.

Lydia looked up her. "I'm not sure." She handed the feather back to Scott. "I don't know how to describe it. There's something else too. Earlier, when I was alone with Stiles I felt something. There's something wrong. He's not just unconscious or sleeping. I think. It's hard to explain. He's…" Her eyes widened and she spun on her heel, facing the bed. "Stiles!" She yelled out. At the same time, all the werewolves (and were-coyote) snapped their eyes to the bed.

Stiles started to shake and the heart monitor went off in alarm. Melissa was the first to react. "He's having a seizure! I need a doctor in here!" She immediately started tending to the boy and the door burst open, two nurses and a doctor not far behind them. "I need everyone out. Go!" She waved the group out the door and returned her attention to Stiles.

They all filed out into the hallway. Scott almost had to drag Lydia out. He heard her whisper faintly under her breath, she kept her gaze in Stiles direction even after a nurse pulled the door shut. "No, no..."

Suddenly he could smell blood, and he knew Malia and Derek could too from behind the door. He couldn't see it, but he knew Stiles was bleeding somewhere. He could hear Stiles shaking violently on the bed, sounds of movement as the nurses held him down and turned him onto his side and orders being issued.

Scott didn't have to look around at his friends faces to know their expressions. It was the same one on his face. Shock. Worry. Fear. Helplessness. Noah Stilinski looked like he was about to lose his whole world.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I don't believe that ghosts are "spirits of the dead" because I don't believe in death. In the multiverse, once you're possible, you exist. And once you exist, you exist forever one way or another. Besides, death is the absence of life, and the ghosts I've met are very much alive. What we call ghosts are lifeforms just as you and I are. -PAUL F. ENO

Stiles was shaking. He brought his limbs in close to his body. The shaking gradually subsided and he pried his eyes open. It was morning now, the sun was just beginning to peek at him between buildings. He didn't remember the sun rising. He had lost time, but he was still here.

He was alone on the rooftop. No sign of the reaper anywhere.

Stiles wiped at his eyes, finding nothing before sitting up slowly and clutched at his chest, it still hurt like a son of a gun. He groaned, pulled up his shirt, and looked down at his chest. Not a single mark on him, but he could still feel the remnants of where the reaper pushed his hand though his chest as if it were nothing. He thought he was going to die right then and there, that the reaper was going to rip out his spectral heart.

Heartburn was nothing compared to this.

Stiles stood up on shaky legs. The reaper was searching for something inside of him, and he was beginning to understand what it might be. Maybe. Alright, not completely, but an idea was beginning to form.

Stiles walked to the edge of the building again and viewed the street below. He had driven past here a few times but never had a reason to stop. Except once. This place used to hold a mom and pop general store at one time. Then that place closed down, several months later it was renovated and turned into the department store it is now. Not much to blink at, but there it is.

Before it was renovated, Stiles came here. Not Stiles, Stiles never had a reason to be here, which was precisely why the Nogitsune chose this place to make his plans and huddle down out of sight after taking over Stiles at the hospital. He remembers setting up the crossbow trap, making it just so. Maneuvering people just so without them realizing it. Anyone could have triggered the trap and the Nogitsune could have used that, but there was a reason he stayed with the coach while the werewolves ran after the others. He knew the coach well from Stiles memories, and how he would react when Stilinski found nothing but a non-threatening piece of chain, strategically placed. It could have been any student, but for it to be the person with the most authority, it generated the most fear. It wasn't just Finstock's pain the Nogitsune wanted. Stiles never told anyone what that felt like, to feel the fear of everyone around him, rejoicing in it. It was so exciting. The Nogitsune feed off Stiles' own fears and the shock he felt in what his hands did as well to school Stiles' features carefully and keep its true emotions hidden. Stiles still remembers what it felt like to twist the sword in Scott's gut. The control, the raw power he felt…it was incredible. The Nogitsune could have fought, it was stronger than anyone realized, but it preferred to watch. Set people up like dominos and watch them fall, reveling in the despair etched on their faces. Under the Nogitsune's influence, Stiles' insecurities vanished, he could outsmart anyone. He felt like he could rule the world.

The cost was everyone and everything he had ever cared for.

Stiles shuddered and walked through the rooftop door into the building. Employees were busy setting up the store to open as he walked through. He one noticed him of course.

The teen stopped on the 1st floor and stared at a display of fashionable coats. A memory flickered through his mind. The same spot once held an old table and a battery operated lantern. Blueprints were spread out while Stiles ogled them. He marked something and a thin smile appeared on his face and a dark chuckle slipped out. The memory faded and Stiles turned away. There wasn't anything here anymore, the Nogitsune had left no evidence behind. Even if there had been it was long taken care of when the department store took over.

How did the reaper know? He only told Scott, and he never gave him all the details.

He headed out of the store, passing straight through the walls. He needed to get to the hospital. It was a few miles to the hospital from here, it would take forever on foot.

Stiles grinned. Why would a ghost need to get there on foot when there were all of these lovely people racing by in their vehicles to get to work? If he could slip into a car that was going the direction he needed, and then into another when it inevitably turned a different direction, he could be there in minutes. And no one would be the wiser.

Grin plastered on his face, he walked half a block to the nearest Stop Light and waited for it to turn red. When it did, he headed for a car that had its blinker on signaling it was turning left. He slipped in the front passenger seat beside an older man in a suit, obviously headed for work. He still hated the feeling of walking through things and wished he could change the radio to anything but the country station it was on. Stiles hated the idea of charging in on some guy's privacy, or what the guy thought was a drive alone. What would he think if he knew Stiles was there with him? Probably freak out and crash the car. Well, he didn't know and Stiles wasn't about to try to tell him. It would be worth it when he got to his destination. The light turned green and the guy turned, not detecting a hint of Stiles. Lydia would know, she had too.

~Teen Wolf~

The doctors couldn't explain Stiles' sudden seizure or why he bled from his eyes. He was stable now, just as he supposedly was before it started. The nurses had given him a feeding tube since he had still shown no signs of waking up. The seizure only lasted a few minutes and they kept a closer eye on him now. Apparently there were filling paperwork out to move him out of ICU when it happened, something Scott only knew because of his enhanced hearing.

It had been a long night and everyone was exhausted. Luckily it was Saturday so they didn't have to worry about school just yet. After Stiles' seizure Lydia told everyone what she told Derek. That when she looked at him she felt like something was missing, like it wasn't quite him, just his body. The feeling increased after she held the feather. She had it now. Scott had wanted to show it to Deaton but Lydia insisted on keeping it, He let her have it after taking pictures. She and Malia had left about an hour ago to get her laptop and some books. She gave Scott implicit instructions to call her when she left at the slightest sign of Stiles condition changing.

It made Scott's stomach turn a little. Stiles was usually the one leading the research, the one who figured things out, or him and Lydia. Scott wanted to ask him what he thought about it, surely he would come up with an answer, just like he always did. Not that Lydia couldn't do it, but it wasn't the same. He wanted his best friend back.

Mr. Stilinski had left to take a shower and get some coffee in his system before going to the station. Crime stops for no man, especially the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Liam was supposed to come back soon to sit with Stiles and then Scott and Derek planned on visiting Deaton. Scott had already called him after the seizure, waking up the man. He had tried to contact Argent as well to no reply. Yet. He would, Argent usually came through in the end. In the meantime, Scott and Derek were in the middle of their own conversation.

"Do you think it's worth the risk?" Scott asked nervously. Derek considered the boy on the bed between them before answering.

"He's already weak, you know the bite doesn't always take as it is. We've been lucky so far with that. And-"

"And we need to find out what attacked him first." Scott interrupted. Derek nodded.

Scott fidgeted in his seat.

"Stiles has lived longer through all this than I ever thought he would. Physically a ten-year-old could take him in a fight but mentally… he's stronger than he looks." Derek reassured in his way. Scott smiled a bit at the shot at his friend and nodded.

"So what do I do?" Even if it did work, I don't know if he would want the bite. And if it didn't… Peter was in a coma and woke up…"

"Peter was in a coma for six years and didn't fully heal until he became an alpha. But he was much worse off than Stiles. He was born a wolf. Stiles would have to battle this _and_ turn. He has a chance but I can't make this decision for you."

"But what would you do?"

Derek leaned forward in his seat, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together and thought about it. Scott knew without asking what he was thinking about. About the girl he turned only to have her die in his arms. That was part of why he asked him.

Finally Derek spoke. "I wouldn't stand by and let someone I care about die. Even if they died, I would rather try than not at all."

Scott nodded, silently agreeing.

"Did you talk to his father?"

"Yeah, not long after we brought him in. We decided to wait and see if he got better, but now…" Scott trailed off, the memory of Stiles seizure was too fresh in his mind.

"So what are you going to do?"

Scott looked down at his friend before answering. "We need to find out what hurt him first. Then, if we can't fix it… I'll bite him." Scott said. He tried to be confident but he just didn't feel it.

Derek nodded and there was a knock on the door. Before they could answer Liam came in.

~Teen Wolf~

Stiles ended up jumping to four different cars before he got to the hospital. The first time he changed drivers was easy, waited for a stoplight and ran to another car, still holding his chest with one arm. Then he realized that this one was going the wrong way, (That's what turn signals are for, idiot,) He had to jump out of the moving car and got ran over by three different cars. He never thought he would be so thankful to be incorporeal. It was horrible though, seeing that first car right before it went through him, he was a deer in headlights. He heard a child laugh at something as it passed though him. It was like he didn't exist. By the time he got to the hospital he was so drained. He had to walk the last few blocks and he just wanted to collapse at this point. Then he saw Liam on his way into the hospital.

He almost wanted to cry at the prospect of moving anymore. Why was he so tired? His body was sleeping right? Shouldn't he be well-rested for once? Unless whatever the reaper did actually killed him and he was stuck like this…

Stiles suddenly had new found energy to jog the rest of the way and catch up with Liam.

"You move… Too… Fast…" Stiles panted at Liam's back when they arrived at a room. At least this way he didn't have to poke his head through every room. It wasn't like he could ask anyone. He wasn't happy to note he was in ICU though. Liam hesitated before knocking and then quickly entering. He closed the door behind him before Stiles could slip in all the way, not that it mattered.

"Sorry I'm late. How's he doing? You said he had a seizure?" Liam asked.

"I did?" Stiles piped up.

Scott nodded, standing up. "And his eyes were bleeding."

"What? My eyes were bleeding?" That was disturbing.

"Really?" Liam said at the same time.

"He's stable now though."

That must have been when the reaper stuck his hand through his chest like he was a freaking puppet. So it affected him here. Well, as Scott would point out if he knew about this side of it, at least it meant he was still connected to his body. And still alive.

 _When did Derek get here? That's almost_ sweet, Stiles thought. He looked at the bed and it was so surreal. Granted, the first time he saw himself standing before him, it was an evil fox spirit that wanted to kill him ( or get him to kill himself) and all his friends. This time _he_ was the spirit who wanted his body… When did things get so weird?

Well, no time like the present. Stiles jumped for the bed, pleading silently with whoever was listening that he could just jump in and wake up. Let it be easy for once…

"That's good," Liam said. "So what now?"

"Ahh!" Stiles yelped as he went right through the bed and landed on his arms and knees on the floor underneath himself.

"We're going to talk to Deaton." Scott gave Liam a sheepish look. "Do you mind staying here with him?"

"At least I didn't fall through this time." Stiles said to the room as he stood up. Which is of course when he started sinking through the floor again. "Oh come on!" He yelled, scrambling, straining to grab hold of something as he slowly sank through the floor, the bed post, the IV pole thingie, something. It was like grabbing at air.

Liam nodded. "Ok. I'd like to help, but if that's what you need me to do, then I'll stay here."

 _The floor is solid. The floor is solid, I am NOT going to fall though. I can climb out!_ Stiles thought frantically. He tried to push himself out again and it worked. "Yes! Hell yes!" He shouted in victory, climbing out and onto solid ground as Scott put a hand on Liam's shoulder.

"That's how you can help best right now." Scott said. Stiles carefully laid down on the bed, thinking solid thoughts _. Be one with thy self._

"We'll call if we find anything, and if we need you." Scott continued. He started to go out the door and stopped, turning to Liam. "Will you..?"

"I'll call if anything changes." Liam assured.

"Scott! Wait!" Stiles cried and sat up in bed. "Damnit!" He said to his body. Not even a twitch. This wasn't working. Being able to climb out of the floor was encouraging, gave him a little of control and showed that he just might be able to do other things. He could stay here with Liam and keep trying, or go see Deaton with Scott and Derek. During their entire exchange, none of them noticed a thing while Stiles flailed all around the room. That was not encouraging. Deaton was a Druid, maybe he could see or sense things others can't. The man never did tell them what all a Druid could do. Or he wouldn't be able to see a darn thing. Stiles didn't know where Lydia was, he didn't see her or anyone else when he and Liam passed by the waiting room. Scott might mention where she was or meet up with her if he followed him. Or she might come here. He still thought she was his best chance.

Scott and Derek closed the door behind themselves as Liam settled in the chair Scott had just vacated. Whichever he choose, he could keep trying. Maybe he could move something, find a way to get people to notice and tell them that he was here. And that a grim reaper may still be after him. Stiles climbed out of himself. (That… that was not a good sentence.)

"Looks like it's just you and me." Liam sighed the words out, staring at the Stiles on the bed. Stiles paused. This sounded like the beginning of a heartfelt monologue. He wanted to stay and listen so he could tease Liam relentlessly for it later but he didn't have the time. Instead he thanked him and headed out to the hallway.

The horrible alarm of a heart monitor went off and a voice cried out "Code Blue!" Stiles froze in horror. He could see that Scott and Derek, just a few feet away, did too. Nurses rushed into a room, but it wasn't his room. It was the one next to him. Stiles felt guilty at the rush of relief as nurses, including Melissa, (Did she work a double shift? She shouldn't be here. Oh, Melissa, she didn't need to do that for him.) Started working on the elderly man. It looked like heart failure.

Derek touched Scott's shoulder and urged him to leave, saying something Stiles couldn't hear. Stiles couldn't see any sign of the reaper nearby. They were there early when the drunk asshole died. He reprimanded himself for thinking ill of the dead even if he had been about to kill someone… Never mind that… The point was that the reaper was nowhere in sight. Maybe the nurses would revive the old man and he would live another day. Perhaps not. Stiles wasn't going to hang around and find out. What if the reaper was still after him? He wasn't about to wait to find out, the reaper would have to catch him first. It stood to reason the reaper might know where he is regardless, but he had to try. He went to catch up with the werewolves.

~Teen Wolf~

Deaton is a fountain of information. Even if he doesn't know about every supernatural creature, he usually has something to add, some useful suggestion. That is what makes it so disappointing when he has no answer. It's not his fault really, after all, who would immediately come to the conclusion that an angel of death was screwing with Stiles' life? Out of all the scenarios that ran through Stiles' mind, all the supernatural creatures he had researched just in case they popped up, this wasn't one of them. He has researched vampires (despite being told they were mere myth, so were werewolves), fairies, unicorns (it could totally happen) and various other creatures. He never looked up Reapers. Why would he? If such a thing existed, no one was _supposed_ to meet them till they were dead. So Stiles can't blame Deaton when he mentions all manners of creatures, never hitting the mark. It doesn't stop Stiles from screaming in their faces, jumping around and trying to trash the entire examination room. Not that he's really trying to trash the place, he just wants to move something, anything, just one single inch would do as long as someone notices. He tries getting angry, tries moving things with his mind, tries stings of insults to the other three and there is nothing. The movies had it wrong, if there was a way, pulling a Patrick Swayze wasn't going to work.

"Well, there's the Stymphalian Bird." Deaton said, looking at the picture of the feather on Scott's phone. "But I'm not sure that's right."

"What's the Stampallen Bird?" Scott asked. Stiles groaned. He knew what it was and it was incredibly frustrating that he couldn't tell them. He felt a little better after resting in the car on the way here, but then he exhausted himself again trying to do something, anything. Now he was lying on top of Deaton's examination table with his knees up unknowingly to the rest of the room. It was interesting to learn that they found one of the reaper's feathers at the site of his accident though. He could be corporeal. At least enough to leave something physical behind. The picture was undoubtedly one of his feathers. The reaper can touch him, hurt him and vise versa. What if he could get his hands on the feather? Would he be able to move it? Affect it some how?

Was the reaper trying to kill him? It definitely seemed like it on the rooftop. He had every opportunity… that wasn't it. When he met him he said he was here to collect… The reaper is supposed to take souls, not kill them. Maybe he was supposed to die at the accident, that's why the reaper was there, except he lived. No, then what was that on the rooftop? All that stuff about the Nogitsune?

"Stymphalian. It's Greek mythology. Enormous birds with sharp bronze feathers they could shoot similar to spears at their enemies. As far I know that's a myth. And I don't know why one would target Stiles, it was a pet to Hades. But you did say it hurt you?"

Scott nodded. "It wasn't metal though. More like stone, kind of?" He sounded unsure, more than Stiles liked.

"I might be of more help if I could see it."

"Sorry, Lydia has it." Scott replied apologetically.

"She seemed… almost mesmerized by it, now that I think of it." Derek added.

"Well that tracks, she is drawn to death." Stiles let out a mocking gasp. "Maybe it's something to do with Death!" He cried, pointing a hand toward the celling.

Deaton narrowed his eyes at that and grabbed a book off his shelf, setting it down on his examination table. Stiles immediately jumped off. "Hey! I already had one guy's hand in my chest today, stay outta my groin!" He huffed at Deaton.

Deaton flipped through the book. "I'm afraid I don't know. There's Harpies, the Caladrius, Gargoyles. I've never heard anything of those outside myth. Harpies have been known as death spirits on occasion, but that's the only connection I could see to Lydia."

"Aren't harpies supposed to be giant birds with the face of women?" Derek asked.

Deaton nodded. "So goes the myth. And they steal food."

"So basically, you have no clue." Derek accused.

"Neither do you." Deaton returned evenly. Stiles raised his hand. "I do."

"This might be more spiritual. I only know so much about that. Scott, have you considered entering his mind as you did before?" Deaton asked, turning his attention back to Scott.

Scott fidgeted. "Can I do that? It's dangerous as it is."

"You drew him out when the Nogitsune had him." Derek pointed out.

"Yeah, but that was different. He's already hurt. What if it does more damage? What if…" Scott trailed off, but they all knew what he meant.

Stiles looked between the trio. He didn't like this idea, at all. It would be a chance to actually talk to Scott however. He hasn't hurt anyone with the claws in back of the neck thing. Not yet. Eh. The whole thing made him uneasy. Even if he did talk to Scott, what could he say? 'Hey, I think there's a grim reaper after me?'

Goodbye?

Hell no.

Besides, why was he after him? Why did he leave Stiles on the roof? Why that roof? Something about the Nogitsune corrupting him. Which he soooo did not. Supposedly, Death takes everyone eventually. Good, evil, it doesn't matter. Fair does not enter the equation. So why would the reaper care one way or another?

The trio talked some more, mainly going in circles and not coming up with any good ideas. It wasn't looking good. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. How could he get them to jump to the right conclusion? Stiles stopped listening for a while but he got the gist. Deaton was going to keep looking and try to find something to wake him up. Lydia's warning of Stiles missing had them worried too, but they didn't know what that could mean. Stiles wanted to show them. He pulled himself out of the floor. He could touch the reaper, and the reaper could definitely touch back. There had to be a way.

Scott said something about going back and catching up with Lydia. Stiles decided to catch a ride with him. May as well, as much as he hated riding on the bike. On the way here he laid down in the backseat of Derek's Camaro, happy to rest for a while even if sleep was completely out of the question. Stiles had never been the biggest fan of Scott's bike. He had tried to convince Scott to get something with four wheels when he first got it. Stiles had heard of too many bike accidents from his father, seeing as he had been to more than one fatal motorcycle accident. But why would a true alpha werewolf have to worry about a silly thing like that with improved senses, reflexes and supernatural healing? That wasn't the only reason he didn't ride with Scott the first time. He wasn't sure he could. Now though, he had to try, it's the faster way there. Following Scott was the faster way to Lydia, and if she still had the feather- well, two birds with one stone. So he jumped on the back of the bike and hooked his arms around Scott gently. The one thing he had found out about his current condition, is while he couldn't physically interact with objects or people, in a way he could. He could lay down on a bed, stand on a floor. He only went through it when he thought about it too much and he was able to pull himself out of it. He had already been in multiple cars. So he concentrated on solid thoughts and somehow managed to stay sitting on the bike. He still didn't effect anything and Scott gave no indication he was there.

Alright, the wind against his face felt good, not that he would admit it. And it was better than flying Reaper Airlines. "Go slow Scotty," he muttered to the back of his friend's head. He feared if he went too fast or made a sharp turn he would fly right off. After all, he may have his arms around Scott but he wasn't actually holding on to anything.

The bike wavered for a second before it slowed down. Stiles looked around, but he couldn't see why Scott was stopping. "What are you doing Scott?" He asked as the bike came to a halt. Scott pulled off his helmet and looked around.

"Scott?"

Scott looked back, right through Stiles for a moment. He didn't think he could see him, but if he heard or if he could sense him somehow…

"Scott, can you hear me?" Stiles said, leaning back and letting go. He was excited, beyond excited. Ecstatic. Could Scott have heard him? He wanted to shout with glee, do a little dance but he held it back. Stiles refused to give up, there had to be a way but after everything he tried- it was hard to believe.

"Stiles?" Scott said, a mere whisper, unbelieving himself.


End file.
